The Case of the Spiteful Spirit
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: A direct sequel to season 5's The Meddling Medium. Problems are still underway at the Walker estate, as something or someone tries to make them believe the mansion is haunted. And this spectre is quite vengeful, not seeming to care who gets hurt in its mad quest. Perry and the others are in for a very dastardly Halloween.
1. Chapter 1

**Perry Mason**

**The Case of the Spiteful Spirit**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This is my Halloween story for 2013, again a challenge for the October Writing community on Livejournal, but I've had the idea for a very long time. It's a direct sequel to the season 5 episode **_**The Meddling Medium**_**, and will make more sense if you're familiar with that. Also involved is Hamilton's friend Mignon Germaine from season 8's **_**The Fatal Fetish **_**and one of Hamilton's deputies from season 4, Mr. Sampson—one of the only recurring ones. He appears in **_**The Loquacious Liar**_**, **_**The Red Riding Boots**_**, and **_**The Envious Editor.**_** The story takes place during the season 5 era, so Andy is still relatively new, David is still around, and the main events of my timeline have not happened yet. There are a couple of stray references to a modern-day setting, but I don't feel they detract from anything.**

It had not been that long since Perry had successfully defended Bonnie Craig against the charge of murdering her fraudulent cousin Philip—and proven that she had ESP in the process. He had hoped that everything was going well for the family now, or at least, as well as could be expected. He became busy with several cases soon after that and didn't hear anything from them for some time. But, oddly and appropriately enough, one stormy October evening close to Halloween, Bonnie called him at the office.

"Hello, Bonnie," he greeted. "How goes the ESP?"

But Bonnie wasn't in any mood to joke. "Oh, Perry, something's happened," she exclaimed. "Do you remember that metal box I was looking for the night Philip was killed?"

"Why, yes," Perry said in surprise. "What's wrong, Bonnie?"

"Several things," she told him. "It's all much too complicated to explain over the phone. But Philip's wife found the box and came right over to show us what was in it. And Perry . . . it's horrible! Can you and Della come over?"

"Of course," Perry assured her, glancing to where Della was curiously looking up from her notepad. "We'll be right there."

Della was already getting up as he hung up the phone. "Trouble?" she deduced.

He nodded. "I'm not sure what," he frowned, "but Bonnie is very upset. Let's go." He headed for the door, grabbing up his heavy trenchcoat and hat along the way.

Della quickly followed suit.

xxxx

The family was all gathered in the living room by the time Perry and Della arrived. Bonnie was sitting at the table where she had fallen into a trance, staring at a small notebook with a sickened expression. Her husband Michael was standing next to her, his expression grim.

"Alright, now what's the trouble here?" Perry demanded after pleasantries had been exchanged with everyone.

Mrs. Paisley looked up at him, her expression somehow smug and upset at the same time. "Just have a look at what Cousin Bonnie's reading, Mr. Mason," she said. "I found it in Philip's box today. I hadn't had the heart to look at it until now, but boy, was I glad I finally got around to it."

Mrs. Walker was standing up, the only one who didn't seem distressed. "Well, Philip was a fraud, of course, as we all know," she said. "He started that ghastly plot when he wanted to move in and start blackmailing poor Bonnie and Michael. But, Mr. Mason, he didn't remain a fraud."

Della stared.

"Mrs. Walker, are you trying to say that Philip actually made contact with the other side?" Perry frowned in disbelief.

Bonnie stood and walked over, handing Perry the notebook. "Read this entry," she said quietly.

Perry accepted the notebook and frowned, studying the shakily scrawled page.

"'There was another performance tonight. I did just as I've been doing for the past several months, pretending to slip into a trance and bringing my poor grieved aunt news from her precious Thomas Leslie Walker. I came out of it, she read it, and was convinced of its truth. Just like always. Only . . . I don't remember any of what happened! Oh, God, I don't remember. Why don't I remember?!'"

Perry frowned more, glancing over several other pages until he found the next one concerning a trance.

"'It happened again. I went into a trance, wrote something, and came out of it, all without remembering a single word. I'd had it all planned out what I was going to say, but the paper Aunt Sylvia held up didn't have one word of it! It was completely foreign to me. What's going on?!'"

Perry had to squint hard to decipher the next entry; it was scribbled more unintelligibly than the others. Philip had probably been drunk when he wrote it.

"'I went into a trance here in my room and wrote something. When I came out of it, I had a piece of paper that said, 'I don't appreciate what you're doing to my mother.' I tore it up and burned it. Then it happened again. This time it said, 'Get out of this house.' Again I tore it up and burned it. A third time it happened. It said, 'You spoke for me in the past. Now, if you will not leave, I will speak for you for the rest of your life.'

"'What madness have I fallen into? Have I become so wrapped up in playing the part of Thomas that I'm writing these things without knowing it? Or is the occult, something I've always scoffed at, real and I've attracted the attention of the real Thomas Leslie Walker?

"'I can't quit now and expose myself as a fraud. But . . . am I even a fraud anymore?'"

The next entry was only one line. "'Thomas is here. He's _here, _right here, right now.'"

Perry flipped through the remainder of the pages. Each entry seemed to grow steadily more unhinged, until by the last one Philip sounded as though he were in the utter throes of madness.

"'They called me a fraud! They still call me a fraud. They don't believe in me or my abilities. They can't even recognize the real thing when it's staring them in the face! For the last several weeks I have been channeling Thomas Leslie Walker for real.

"'I can't take it anymore! This has to stop. I'm sick and tired of being called on to perform this blasted automatic writing. I don't want to know what he's going to say next. I have to get out of this insane house.

"'But . . . even if I do, will Thomas Leslie Walker leave me in peace? Or, now that I've summoned him, will he follow me everywhere and haunt everything I say and do? Is there no freedom from the dead? What madness have I unleashed?'"

Perry closed the notebook, setting it on the desk. "You realize, of course, that Philip may very well have been drunk when he wrote these things," he said. "They might have only been his perception of what was happening, without actually being what was happening."

"I know, Perry," Bonnie agreed in distress. "But remember I said that several things were going wrong? This notebook is only part of it."

"Alright, then, what's the other part of it?" Perry returned.

"Strange things have been happening in this house ever since I was acquitted for Philip's murder," Bonnie said.

"Even I have to admit it's unusual," Michael said. "Oh, there's surely some logical explanation, but after several months we still haven't been able to find it."

"You should both know better by now," Mrs. Walker declared. "The most logical explanation is the one you still steadfastly try to overlook."

She turned to Perry. "Mr. Mason, I know what's happening here. The dead do not rest in this house. The spirits of both my dear son Thomas and my nephew Philip are roaming these halls!"

xxxx

Both Perry and Della were stunned by Mrs. Walker's announcement. And as they listened to the details of what had been happening in the house, they had to admit it was eerie.

"I keep Thomas and Philip's door shut and locked," Mrs. Walker said. "Oh, I realize that the horrible deaths that happened weren't related to the occult or evil spirits, but it still feels like that room is cursed after so much has happened. I don't want anyone to use it again. But every morning, one of us finds the door stretched wide open."

"The elevator is always boarded up," Michael put in. "But strangely, two nights ago all the boards were laying neatly on the floor! And I'm not saying I believe the ghost explanation, but none of us living souls here would have done it."

"What reason would one of the ghosts have to do it?" Perry wondered.

"Who knows," Michael shrugged. "Maybe they just want to make sure we remember how they died."

Della looked to Bonnie. "Have you sensed anything, Bonnie?" she asked in kind concern.

"No, I haven't," Bonnie sighed. "This ESP hasn't really proved very useful to me. It never seems to work when we could really use it!"

Mrs. Walker was standing again, near the stairs to the second floor. "That's strange," she frowned.

"What is?" Perry asked. He got up, seeing that she was gazing up the stairs.

"I just heard a creaking sound in the walls," she said. "The only times I've ever heard that particular sound are when the elevator is moving. But we haven't even gotten it fixed since . . ."

A horrible, haunting, piercing cry echoed through the walls and sent everyone springing to their feet.

"That was Philip!" Bonnie exclaimed, sheet-white. "He screamed like that when the elevator plunged." She rushed past the others, hurrying up the steps.

Della looked to Perry in shock. "Perry, what on Earth . . ."

Perry grimly touched her upper arm. "Let's go up there and see."

About halfway up the stairs, a horrific crash sounded through the walls. "And that must have been the elevator hitting rock bottom," Michael said, definitely disturbed now even though he was still attempting a light joke.

Mrs. Paisley looked ill. Mrs. Walker stayed by her in concern as they went upstairs.

Thomas and Philip's door was open again, but Bonnie might have opened it. She was standing at the elevator door inside the room, peering into the shaft.

"Do you see anything?" Perry queried as he and Della arrived.

Bonnie shook her head, looking dizzy and dazed as she stepped away. "Nothing's there," she said weakly. "But . . . something still isn't the way it was left."

His eyes narrowed, Perry looked into the shaft and saw it was true.

The elevator was sitting in the doorway.

"You never brought it back up when it fell the second time?" Della said.

"No," Mrs. Walker said as she came up from behind her. "There was too much sadness connected with this machine. I didn't want to see it used ever again." She gazed at it now, visibly shivering. "But somehow, now, here it is."

Perry reached and closed the door.

Mrs. Paisley was chalk-white. "You all hated Philip in life. Well, now he won't leave you alone in death." She turned away, her eyes flashing. "Maybe that's just the way it should be."

Mrs. Walker stared after her. "I can't think Philip would be doing this just to torment us," she said weakly. "He and Thomas must have some other reason for it. They must be trying to communicate! Oh, if only I knew what they wanted. . . ."

Della looked after her with compassion. "Perry, we have to find out what's causing all this," she said quietly.

"I know, Della," Perry frowned. "The main question I have is whether the ghosts are real . . . or humans masquerading as spectres."

He glanced to the departing Mrs. Paisley, his expression darkening all the more.

xxxx

"Okay, so the elevator didn't really crash last night, like it sounded. Couldn't someone have had a tape recorder hidden somewhere with all the sound effects on it?"

Paul was sitting on the edge of Perry's desk, listening while he and Della related the bizarre and disconcerting experience of the previous night.

"Well," Della said, "if someone did, we certainly didn't find it."

"We should look into all possibilities, though," Perry said, "including that perhaps someone was hired to sound like Philip Paisley and scream. Possibly it could be Mrs. Paisley, still angry and hurting over both her husband's death and the way she perceives that the rest of the family treated him."

"It could be," Della agreed, "but that poor woman was so pale I just can't imagine she had anything to do with it."

"That's a good point, Della," Perry said. "It doesn't let her off the hook, but she did behave as though she was witnessing those horrors for the first time and had no knowledge of them beforehand."

Paul sighed. "I'll see what I can find out either way," he said, getting down from the desk, "but don't hold out too much hope."

Della frowned. "Mrs. Walker is so sure that both Philip and Thomas are haunting the house now," she said. "I can't say I'd have too much trouble believing Philip would cause so much trouble, but would Thomas? I know he wasn't a very nice person when he was alive, but his mother doted on him so much I can hardly believe he would want to frighten her."

"Maybe that isn't his intention," Perry replied, "_if_ his ghost is in the house. Maybe it isn't even Philip's intention. It's possible that they're both simply trying to communicate with the living for some reason, just as Mrs. Walker says."

Paul snarked. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know," Perry frowned, gazing down at a pencil as he turned it between his fingers. "I've never especially disbelieved in the existence of ghosts; on the contrary, I believe there's a lot of strange things going on in this world that we can't explain. Just because there's usually a different explanation for paranormal activity doesn't mean there's never any actual ghosts."

"I guess," Paul said. "But okay, suppose they're trying to communicate. Why? Shouldn't they both be in the afterlife right now?"

"It's hard to say." Perry set the pencil down. "There's many experts who say that some spirits remain Earthbound, usually because their ties to the mortal world are too strong to be severed even by death. Or perhaps Thomas, at least, originally _was_ in the afterlife and decided to stay here instead after Philip got his attention by pretending to write messages from him. And Philip himself . . . who knows."

"It all sounds pretty wacky," Paul proclaimed. "Like something out of an old horror picture."

"Well, horror picture or not, this one is definitely real and affects a lot of nice people," Della said. "But what do we do if we eliminate every possibility other than ghosts?"

"Hamilton has a friend who knows a lot about the supernatural and the occult," Perry mused. "Perhaps she would know what to do."

Paul stared, slack-jawed. "Don't tell me you're going to tell all of this to Burger! He'll just think we've all gone off the deep end!"

"Perhaps," Perry smiled. "But that's a chance I'll just have to take."

xxxx

Hamilton leaned back in his chair, unable to keep an amused smile from splitting his features as he listened to the tale of the disturbing events. But, as Perry finished his story, Hamilton sighed and tried to sober up.

"Well, Perry, I just don't know what to tell you," he said, straightening and lacing his fingers on his desk. "I feel bad for that family. They've already had more than enough sorrow. They certainly don't need someone playing cruel pranks on them like this. But as far as I'm concerned, that's all it could be. The very thought that the ghosts could be real is . . ."

"I know, Hamilton, you can't believe any sane person would believe in ghosts," Perry interrupted. "But what about Mignon Germaine? Would you be kind enough to explain the situation to her and inquire as to whether she would be willing to investigate Mrs. Walker's home, if we can't find any logical explanation for what's happening there?"

"Of course I will," Hamilton said. "Or I could set up an appointment for you to tell her all the details. I don't know what she'll say, though. Remember, she doesn't consider herself a qualified 'paranormal investigator' or whatever those people call themselves."

"But she does know a great deal about paranormal subjects," Perry inserted.

"I'll give you that," Hamilton admitted. He reached for the phone. "Hang on, Perry. She should still be at home now. I'll see if I can get in touch with her."

xxxx

"I was surprised when Hamilton gave me your message, Mr. Mason." Mignon set down a cup of tea on the table and looked to her guest.

Perry, still holding his cup, smiled. "Yes, I imagine you don't get many requests from lawyers to decipher possible paranormal activity."

She smiled slightly in amusement. "It isn't usual.

"Tell me then, Mr. Mason. How long have these strange occurrences been happening in the Walker home?"

"If Philip Paisley's notebook is to be believed, at least several months," Perry said. "He felt that even though he started out as a fraud, only pretending to perform automatic writing, he eventually attracted the attention of the person from whom he was supposed to be delivering messages."

Mignon nodded. "And now the family has been experiencing odd noises, objects being moved, and blood-curdling screams."

"Yes. Della and I were witnesses to the latter. Paul has been going through that house all day long with an electrician, but they haven't yet found any trace of equipment."

Mignon looked thoughtful. "It could be something portable," she suggested.

"We've thought of that," Perry acknowledged. "In particular, I wondered if Mrs. Paisley might be responsible for what's happening. She has been angry with the rest of the family ever since Philip's death, feeling that they were all hypocritical in disliking Philip when they themselves had skeletons in their own closets."

"Would she have had any chance to enter the home and plant equipment?" Mignon wondered.

"There are certainly times when no one is home," Perry said, "and Mrs. Walker can't remember if Mrs. Paisley still has a key from the time she and Philip were living there. So yes, there have been quite a few times when it would have been possible."

"Or the house could actually be haunted," Mignon said. "However, not necessarily by spirits. You mentioned that two people were murdered in the elevator."

"That's right," Perry said. In a bit of surprise he added, "But what do you mean, Mrs. Germaine? If not spirits, what else could potentially be haunting the Walker home?"

"There is a type of paranormal activity called a residual haunting," Mignon explained. "Rather than being brought about by spirits, a residual haunting is instead where a great deal of energy has collected in one particular spot and repeats itself over and over, as an old record does. Traumatic events are very often behind such manifestations. Two murders could definitely do it."

"That's very interesting," Perry mused. "But would a residual haunting be responsible for things such as the boards being torn off of the elevator door or the elevator being returned to the room?"

"No," Mignon admitted. "A residual haunting does not interact in any way with the surroundings or the people; it simply acts out the past in an endless time loop. So either someone living removed those boards . . . or someone not living did."

"Perhaps there are two different types of hauntings taking place," Perry said in concern.

"What about the girl, Bonnie?" Mignon asked. "I remember the case received a great deal of publicity because of your attempts to prove she had ESP and hence, might have truly entered a trance on the night of Philip Paisley's murder."

"That's right," Perry said. "It was proved that she does have extremely mild ESP."

"Has she entered any trance-like states since the new activity began?" Mignon wondered.

"Not that I'm aware of," Perry said. "It seems like the ghosts are trying every way to communicate except through Bonnie."

"That could be some significance to that," Mignon said. "On the other hand, perhaps it only means that they haven't yet attempted to communicate through Bonnie but still will do so."

"If they are deliberately refraining, what could be the reason for that?" Perry queried.

"Perhaps Thomas doesn't want to put his sister through that experience again," Mignon said. "If it was he who sent the message through Bonnie before, he may have only done it as a last, desperate measure to warn Philip that he would be killed. As for Philip, perhaps he has no desire to communicate via the same method that he faked while alive."

Perry leaned back, pondering on that. "I suppose that makes sense," he said.

"I would be happy to go out to the house and attempt to speak with the spirits, if Mrs. Walker wishes," Mignon said. "But she might prefer to consult an actual paranormal investigator."

Perry set the empty cup on the table and stood. "I'll pass along your generous offer, Mrs. Germaine," he said. "Thank you for your time, and for the tea." He smiled. "This has been most enlightening."

Mignon stood as well. "I hope that your friends will find a solution that satisfies them."

"So do I," Perry said.

xxxx

Paul was frustrated and discouraged—to say nothing of disturbed—when Perry drove out to the Walker estate following his meeting with Mignon. Seeing Perry's car arrive, Paul hurried outside, despite the fact that rain looked imminent.

"Hello, Paul," Perry greeted, turning off the engine. "I don't suppose you're rushing out to greet me to let me know you've had some luck in debunking our ghosts?"

"No, I'm rushing out to greet you because I can't stand that house!" Paul exclaimed. "The electrician's creeped out too."

Perry chuckled. "Well, what's so unsettling that you two strong men can't handle it?"

"That's just it, Perry—we don't know!" Paul gripped the top of the car door. "There's no trace of electrical equipment, but the stuff he brought to look for it is going wild. Plus, there's some kind of a presence."

Perry raised an eyebrow. "A presence?"

"Yeah. A smug, arrogant presence!" Paul shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's like it's laughing at us for not finding what we're looking for. But of course there's nothing there that we can see or hear. I don't know whether there really _is_ a ghost or if you and Della just have my imagination going wild!"

"I don't know, either, Paul," Perry said as he got out of the car, "but I'd like to talk to the electrician. Where is he?"

"Up in the attic, with Mrs. Walker and Bonnie," Paul reported. "And he's just about ready to cut out, like I just did!"

Perry lightly cuffed Paul on his upper arm. "Then I'd better hurry and catch him before he does," he said. "Coming, Paul?"

Paul gave a huge sigh and fixed Perry with one of his _You know I'd rather not, but I probably will anyway_ looks. Then, grudgingly, he followed Perry back to the house of doom.

xxxx

In the attic, Mrs. Walker was watching attentively as the electrician moved slowly around the room with his sensor. Bonnie, trailing behind, was writing down the read-outs on the machine at Mrs. Walker's request. As Perry and Paul arrived, the electrician looked ready to run for the hills.

"Look, lady, I don't know what this thing's picking up, but it's not any equipment," he declared. "That private eye and I have been prying up floorboards and looking into the walls for hours, every time there's a reading, even though these readings are way too high to be any kind of electronic device!"

"You're not going to find any electronic device," Mrs. Walker insisted. "It's Thomas and Philip!"

"You'll have to prove that by somebody else," the electrician said. "I've gone as far as I can go." He reached to turn off the sensor.

At that moment Bonnie stiffened. Her eyes rolled back into her head and closed, but she didn't fall. Seemingly of its own accord, her hand began to write.

Paul and Perry froze. "Perry," Paul gasped. "Did she just . . ."

"Quiet, Paul," Perry shushed. He stared, attentively. Nearby, Mrs. Walker's eyes had widened in anticipation and the electrician looked too scared to move.

Bonnie collapsed to the floor before anyone could catch her. The notepad fell and the pencil rolled, stopping at Perry's feet. He bent to pick it up as Mrs. Walker ran to her daughter's side.

"Bonnie!" she exclaimed, gently lifting the young woman's upper body. "Bonnie, dear, are you alright?"

"What?" Bonnie mumbled as she stirred. "What happened?"

"You just went into a trance," Mrs. Walker proclaimed.

That immediately snapped Bonnie awake. "Oh no!" she moaned. "Did I . . ."

"You wrote something," Perry said, frowning as he held up the notepad. Instead of upsidedown and backwards, as Bonnie's first transcription had been, this was perfectly legible and written in unsettling block letters.

I AM NOT RELATED TO YOU.

The electrician took one look at the message and bolted. "That does it," he yelled over his shoulder. "You couldn't get me back in this house if you paid me a million bucks!"

"I don't blame you, friend," Paul called back.

Dazed, Bonnie took the notepad from Perry and gaped at the message. "I don't understand," she said. "What does this mean, Mr. Mason?"

"I'm not sure," Perry admitted. "But if it's a genuine communication from the other side, it seems that there's a different spirit behind the hauntings than we've been thinking."

Mrs. Walker stared at the message and slumped back, slowly shaking her head. "I've wanted so much to believe that Thomas has been here," she said sadly. "The last months have been so hard. It was so comforting to think that Thomas came back. And now, to face this reality, that the spirit must be someone else, maybe someone we don't even know . . ."

"Wait a minute, Mrs. Walker," Perry interrupted. "This message doesn't say that you don't know the ghost, only that it isn't related to you."

"Yes, but who in the world would haunt this house who isn't related to us?" Mrs. Walker said in confusion. She got to her feet, helping Bonnie stand as well.

"Did anyone else own this house before you moved in?" Perry queried as he rose with them.

Mrs. Walker blinked. "Well . . . yes," she said slowly. "But they were our ancestors, the first Walkers to begin Walker Industries. So they are all related to us, unless some of the servants' ghosts stayed on, perhaps. And I don't know why they would haunt this house."

"There's quite a few tales of ghosts that stay on in their old homes," Perry said. "Including servants."

"Yes, but it seems they would have been here all along," Mrs. Walker frowned. "We never experienced any spirit activity until Philip started—we thought—to communicate with Thomas. And after his . . . death, everything was quiet until Bonnie was acquitted."

"That's odd, isn't it," Perry mused. "Think back, both of you. Do you recall the exact day when it first started?"

Bonnie bit her lip. "It must have been about a week after I got out of jail," she said. "Yes, I remember! I came in from shopping and the lights turned on and the kitchen door opened for me."

Perry leaned back. "Well, that sounds fairly benign," he mused.

"I thought it was Michael at first," Bonnie said, "and I thanked him for it. But when I got in the kitchen, he wasn't there!"

Mrs. Walker nodded. "Things continued in that vein for quite some time," she said. "We didn't call you, Perry, because it didn't seem a concern when our ghosts were just being helpful."

"Mother didn't mind, at least," Bonnie said. "I wasn't sure what to think."

"There was a point when they stopped being helpful?" Perry's eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Walker declared. "When they started opening Thomas and Philip's door."

"And screaming in the middle of the night," Bonnie shuddered.

"And opening the elevator three nights ago," Mrs. Walker added.

Perry considered this information. "Do you remember the exact day when _these_ things started?"

"Two weeks ago," Bonnie said immediately. "The first time I found that door open."

Perry frowned. "I don't like to worry you even more, but it sounds like there could be a chance that you have two or more types of ghosts in the house," he said. "Either that or you have one ghost that wanted to lure you into a false sense of security before revealing its true colors."

"You mean there might be both benevolent and malevolent ghosts?" Mrs. Walker supplied.

"Something like that, perhaps," Perry agreed, "if you have ghosts at all. And I'm starting to think you actually might."

"It looks like you'd better call Mignon Germaine again," Paul sighed, wishing he hadn't been listening to this conversation. He was going to have nightmares tonight.

"Or I could bring her here," Perry suggested. Looking to Mrs. Walker he explained, "Mignon Germaine practices _vodun_ and knows a great deal about ghosts and spirits. She offered to come here, if you'd like, but she isn't a practicing paranormal investigator and she wondered if you might prefer one of those."

"Oh, I'd be happy to have anyone come who might be able to explain these things," Mrs. Walker sighed. "Yes, Mr. Mason, please tell her to come as soon as she can."

Perry smiled. "I'll drop by her house again on my way back into town. She may be going to work soon, but she might be able to come by on her way in."

"I hope so," Bonnie sighed. "Oh, I wish someone could figure out what's happening!"

"If Mrs. Germaine can't, she should be able to tell you someone who can," Perry said with an encouraging smile. "Let's go, Paul."

_Gladly,_ Paul said silently as he followed Perry out of the attic.

xxxx

Della frowned as she listened to Perry's relation of the eerie events. They were back in the office that evening, following Perry and Paul's return from the Walker estate. Outside, a heavy rain pelted the balcony doors.

"Well, Della?" Perry asked at the conclusion. "What do you think? Do you have any possible theories on what's happening to our friends?"

Della tapped her pencil on her writing pad. "I don't know, Perry," she said, shaking her head. "It all sounds very disturbing, especially what poor Bonnie wrote on her notepad."

"I know," Perry frowned. "She was terribly upset about that. I don't think anyone can blame her."

"And Mrs. Germaine said she wouldn't be able to get over there until after work," Della mused.

"It'll be late, but Mrs. Walker said she was more than willing to wait," Perry said. "She doubts she'll sleep properly until this has all been solved."

"I'm sure she won't," Della said.

Suddenly she paused. "Perry, didn't you say that the less friendly activity started about two weeks ago?"

"That's right." He looked up at her. "Why?"

"Well, wasn't that when Helen Garden died?"

Perry stared. "Of course," he exclaimed. "The woman who murdered both Thomas and Philip in cold blood. She was executed two weeks ago at the stroke of midnight." He got up from the desk. "Someone like that could easily stay here after her death instead of moving on, and what more logical place for her to haunt than the scene of the two brutal murders she orchestrated? Della, you're a genius!"

Della would ordinarily make a smiling crack at that comment, but at the moment she was too disturbed by the possible solution to the mystery. "Perry, if she _is_ the one haunting the house, everyone there might be in terrible danger!" she cried.

Perry frowned. "She was the secretary companion to Mrs. Walker for years. It was Thomas and Philip with whom she was angry, not Mrs. Walker or Bonnie or Michael. However, considering the idea that she might be the malevolent ghost and has been tormenting those poor people, I don't think I'd put anything past her now." He grabbed his coat and hat. "Come on, Della. We'd better get back out to the estate before anything else might happen."

Della was more than willing to set aside her notepad and pencil to follow.

xxxx

Both Perry and Della were surprised at the end of their climb up the hill to find two other cars on the property. One was Mrs. Paisley's, Della realized, but the other, which was just parking now, was unfamiliar to her.

"This isn't Mrs. Germaine's car, is it?" Della wondered.

"No, it isn't," Perry said. "Hers is blue. This one is white." He got out with Della, opening an umbrella over their heads.

As they approached the car, a vaguely familiar young man got out, adorned in a raincoat and hat and not bothering with an umbrella. He glanced over, catching their eyes. "Hello," he greeted. "Mr. Mason, Miss Street. I was told you would probably be coming back."

Perry squinted through the rain as they drew closer. "Mr. Sampson, isn't it?" he realized at last.

"Yes." Sampson smiled, holding out his hand. "I believe this is the first time we've encountered each other outside of the courtroom."

Perry shook the young deputy district attorney's hand. "It is," he acknowledged. "I wasn't aware that you knew the Walkers."

"Thomas and I were in school together," Sampson replied, somewhat awkwardly.

"That must have been . . . interesting," Perry said carefully.

"Yes," Della agreed, as they all walked to the large porch. "We've all heard tales about how wild Thomas was." She looked at Sampson with a curious, sidelong glance. It was hard to picture him, straitlaced and almost obsessively upright as he was, being friendly with someone such as Thomas Leslie Walker.

Sampson flushed. "Yes, well . . . that's how he was then, too. He was a bad influence, I'm afraid, but knowing him resulted in my friendships with the rest of the family. Mrs. Walker called me right after you left, Mr. Mason, and told me some of what's been going on. I thought I should come out."

"I'm sure your presence will be appreciated," Perry said, noting Dr. Younger's car in the driveway.

Following his gaze, Sampson said, "I believe Dr. Younger is hoping I can talk some sense into Mrs. Walker. He, of course, isn't convinced that spirits are responsible for all of this madness."

"And what explanation does he have?" Perry returned.

"He doesn't have one," Sampson said. "What about you, Mr. Mason? Mrs. Walker told me you weren't adverse to the idea of spirits."

"Let's just say I'm keeping an open mind," Perry said with a vague smile. "And yourself?"

"Well . . ." Sampson gave a short laugh. "Mr. Burger, of course, doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits or anything unusual. I'm not even sure he believes in extra sensory perception. I lean more towards his way of thinking, but I'm not as skeptical. Perhaps ghosts are real, and perhaps Thomas is haunting this house, or perhaps not. I don't know, and I don't know that anyone can know for certain."

"We may just know a lot more before long," Perry said cryptically.

"Hmm. Are you holding out on us, Mr. Mason?" Sampson wondered. "You seem to know more than you're willing to say."

"Actually, we came here to express our latest theory," Perry said. "Della came up with it."

Della blushed. "Oh, I just made a comment that got Mr. Mason thinking," she said with a smile. "He came up with the theory."

"I look forward to hearing it," Sampson said.

As they arrived on the porch, Sampson used the heavy doorknocker. In a moment, the door was opened by Bonnie, who smiled to see the trio. "Oh, please come in, all of you," she greeted, stepping aside to let them in.

Della immediately noticed the worry in her eyes. "Has something else happened, Bonnie?" she asked in concern.

The thunder clapped and Bonnie jumped a mile. "Yes!" she cried, hurrying to shut the door once everyone was inside. "Ever since this afternoon, something hasn't been right. Mother believes that whatever or _who_ever is here is angry because of the investigation."

"Do you honestly believe it's your brother?" Sampson frowned as he shed his raincoat and hat.

"Oh, I don't know," Bonnie said helplessly. "I never used to believe in any of this nonsense, like Mike still doesn't. But after Philip's death and my trance and the ESP . . . well, it's hard to know what to think!"

"It would be," Perry said. "But what's happened?"

"There's this dark, cold feeling permeating through the entire house," Bonnie said. "Once you all take off your coats, I'm afraid you'll be able to feel it a lot more."

"I feel it right now," Della declared as she slipped out of her coat. Shivering, she pulled it back on. "I thought it was just the cold from outside."

"No, it's all through the house. We have a fire going, and the heat's on full-blast, but nothing helps!" Bonnie led them through the entryway and into the living room, where Mrs. Walker, Dr. Younger, Michael, and Mrs. Paisley were sitting on the furniture and looking various shades of uneasy and worried. Bonnie walked around to the piano and then to her husband.

Perry and Della made their way into the room, definitely noting the chill. "Hello again," Perry said.

Mrs. Walker tried to smile. "Oh, Mr. Mason, Miss Street. Gregory." She looked to Sampson. "I'm so glad all of you could come. I just don't know what we're going to do. The evening is still young and Mrs. Germaine didn't think she could get here until late. She recommended a couple of actual paranormal investigators. I've been sitting here debating calling one of them. I just don't think I can stand several more hours of this . . . this horrible, otherworldly chill and this dreadful feeling of something being wrong!"

"I'm against it, of course," Dr. Younger frowned. "I'm afraid it will only make matters worse instead of better."

"Oh, but these ghost-busters are highly recommended," Michael remarked. "Right now, I think I'd be willing to try anything to get this old house warm again."

As Sampson followed the others in, he suddenly stiffened. Mrs. Walker immediately looked to him in concern. "Gregory, what is it?" she asked.

Sampson turned, looking behind him and reaching to touch the air. "It felt like . . . it feels like I just passed through a wall of Jell-O." He poked the air with a finger. "It's right here."

Bonnie went rigid as well. "Get out," she whispered, low and most unlike herself.

Mrs. Walker stared. "Bonnie, what are you saying?" she exclaimed.

"Get out!" Bonnie screamed louder. "Get out, get out!" The lightning flashed, silhouetting her against the window, and those not already standing leapt to their feet.

Michael slumped back, completely pale. "For just a moment there, Bonnie looked like Helen Garden," he gasped.

Della gasped too. "That's what Perry wanted to talk with you about!" she said. "He thought that maybe Helen's ghost came here, since the most malevolent things started happening right around the time of her execution."

"That's right," Perry acknowledged. He started to walk towards the piano. "Bonnie, come sit down."

But Bonnie continued to stand where she was. "No." She looked to Sampson, who was still staring at her in disbelief. "I want him gone."

Perry looked to Mrs. Walker. "Did Helen have reason to dislike Mr. Sampson?" he frowned.

Mrs. Walker shook her head helplessly. "I don't know," she stammered. "I didn't think she would, but . . ."

"She didn't like him," Mrs. Paisley spoke up. "He tried to tell Thomas once that Thomas should leave Helen alone. Thomas laughed about it in a letter to Phil."

"That's awfully flimsy evidence," Perry mused.

"I thought Helen was a decent person," Sampson frowned. "I didn't think Thomas should be corrupting her."

"So there must have been another reason, if Helen really didn't like you," Della said.

"I remember she didn't like my being friendly with Thomas," Sampson said. "She accused me once of encouraging Thomas to attend drunken parties and cavort with all manner of uncouth women."

"And did you?" Perry returned.

"It was the other way around," Sampson retorted. "Thomas was encouraging that of _me._ And I feel I should say that while Thomas may have been a bad influence, I was never anywhere as wild as he was, with women or otherwise."

"Then why in the world did Helen think it of you?" Della exclaimed.

"She didn't want to believe it of Thomas," Sampson said. "But she was forced to accept it eventually."

Suddenly he choked, his hands going to his throat. He fell back, his eyes wide in panic and pain.

Mrs. Walker gasped in horror. "Gregory!" she cried. Running to him, she turned and screamed, "Stop it! Whoever you are, you must stop it! You'll kill him!"

Perry ran over too, while Della stared in open-mouthed horror and Bonnie stood like a stone statue, eerily pointing a finger in Sampson's direction.

Michael looked from the choking deputy district attorney to his unmoved wife, bewildered and disturbed and not understanding any of this. "Okay, Bonnie, that's enough of that now," he said. He grabbed Bonnie's wrist, trying to lower her arm. It wouldn't lower.

Another clap of lightning put the lights and the fire all out at the same time. A sickening _thump_ came in the next moment.

"What was that?" Dr. Younger demanded, sharply. "Sylvia?"

"I'm right here, Arthur," Mrs. Walker responded.

Della's heart gathered speed. "Perry?!" she called, trying to feel her way to where she knew Perry had last been.

"I'm here, Della." Perry sounded grim. "I'm afraid it was Sampson who collapsed."

"Oh no." Mrs. Walker sounded alarmed, but at the same time not surprised. "Perry, is he badly hurt? Was he strangled?"

"I don't know what happened," Perry answered, "but I can't find a pulse. He's dead."

At that pronouncement, three things happened at once.

Another crack of thunder brought the lights and the fire back on.

And Bonnie suddenly went limp, fainting backwards into Michael's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

The next hour was a whirlwind of activity in the Walker mansion. An ambulance was sent for, although it was futile. Dr. Younger had been struggling to revive Sampson with artificial respiration, to no avail. And in addition to the local, county police, Perry saw to it that Hamilton was notified.

The latter task he had especially dreaded. How was he to say that one of Hamilton's deputies had been killed, right there in the living room?

It had certainly been one of the strangest exchanges he had ever had, with Hamilton or anyone else.

"_Hamilton,"_ he had said at last, after their greetings, _"I don't quite know how to say this, but Mr. Sampson was out here tonight. Apparently he was a friend of the family."_

"_Was, Perry?"_ Hamilton had returned, instantly picking up on the past tense.

"_Something . . . something killed him, practically in front of our eyes."_

"_WHAT?!"_

Perry had been forced to hold the telephone away from his ear. _"We saw him behaving as though he was being choked to death, but no one visible was there,"_ he had said. _"Then the lights went out and he collapsed, dead."_

"_I'm coming out there,"_ Hamilton had declared, as Perry had known he would. _"But Perry, you're not going to get me to believe that Sampson or anyone else could be choked by a ghost. Anyone in that room could have killed him in the dark."_

"_Yes, I know. But one other bizarre fact about his death is that there are no marks on his throat. Dr. Younger says he can't find any physical damage whatsoever."_

Hamilton had scoffed, of course. And Perry himself was finding this too incredible and horrible to be believed.

He came back to the present, glancing across the room. Bonnie was in hysterics, as she had been ever since reviving from the swoon. Michael and Mrs. Walker were both trying to comfort her as she sobbed, to no avail.

"I can't explain what happened!" she wailed. "I don't even remember. Something got into my body and talked through me and moved my arm. What if it's my fault Greg is dead?! What if Helen killed him through me? Oh, God, please no. No! Take this ESP away from me. I don't want it; it's a curse! _A curse!_"

Dr. Younger got to his feet. "I'd better prepare a sedative," he said grimly. "Bonnie will never calm down in the state she's in now."

"I agree," Perry frowned. "Yes, Doctor, please do that."

Della nodded. "Oh, Perry, this is terrible," she said, looking from Sampson's body on the floor to Bonnie weeping uncontrollably on the couch. "What can we do?"

"I don't think there's anything we can do, Della," Perry replied. "It's too late for Mr. Sampson. And Bonnie does need a sedative. Hopefully she'll feel at least a little better after she takes it and rests."

On his way to the kitchen, Dr. Younger paused at the sound of the doorknocker. He went into the entryway and opened the front door, discovering two paramedics, Hamilton, and two city police officers—Lieutenant Tragg and his young colleague and trainee Lieutenant Anderson.

Dr. Younger stood back, looking a bit overwhelmed. "Hello," he said slowly.

"Hi," greeted one of the paramedics. "Can we come in?"

"Yes, of course," Dr. Younger said, "but the man is definitely dead. I've had no luck reviving him."

Hamilton's eyes filled with sadness at that news. "I'd like to see him before he's taken out," he said.

"So would we," Lieutenant Tragg frowned. "I know this isn't in our jurisdiction; we came out as a personal favor to Mr. Burger here."

"By all means." Dr. Younger looked after the entering paramedics. "His body is in the living room. I'll take you there." He deposited the rest of the group in the living room before going about his planned route to the kitchen.

Perry came to attention as everyone entered the room. Hamilton was already kneeling down, staring at the deathly pale face of his deputy. As he straightened, allowing the paramedics to perform their own examination and lift the limp form onto the gurney, he looked haunted and shaken.

"I always knew I'd have to face the possibility that someday someone would try to kill me or one of my deputies," he said. "But it's not something I could've ever really prepared for. Especially Sampson. You know how he was, Perry—so forceful and confident . . . so determined to take on all the crime in the county and get it stopped. . . ."

"Yes," Perry said quietly, "I know, Hamilton. I faced him in court several times. He could be overconfident, but he was one of your most promising up-and-coming deputies."

Hamilton whirled to face him. "I want to know what _happened_ here tonight!" he ranted. "There's no way you're going to get me to believe some ghost killed him. Maybe he was poisoned before he ever got here, and it just happened to take effect while you were all in the living room!"

"That's possible," Perry nodded. "An autopsy will show the truth."

Hamilton stepped away, watching the paramedics wheel the covered body through the entryway and onto the porch. The rain had stopped by this point, but thunder still rumbled in the distance. Hamilton followed the gurney, going to the open door to watch them journey down the stairs.

And then he went sheet-white. As soon as the gurney left the last step, Sampson sprang upright, coughing and gasping. The paramedics jumped a horrified mile.

"Are you alright?!" the brunet gasped. He tried to reach for Sampson's wrist, but could not take hold. Sampson was frantically undoing the straps binding him to the gurney.

"It's . . . it's that house!" Sampson cried, his eyes wild and filled with terror. "Dear God in Heaven, there's something evil in that house!"

"Just calm down," the red-haired paramedic said, taking hold of Sampson's wrist at last. His pulse was racing.

"Everyone thought you were dead," the brunet exclaimed. "I mean, you . . . you _were_ dead! A doctor tried to resuscitate you, _we _tried to resuscitate you . . . and nothing worked!"

Hamilton was running down the steps. Behind him, a shocked Perry and Della were hurrying onto the porch. "Greg!" Hamilton hurried to Sampson's side. "Greg, what in the name of . . ."

Sampson looked up at him. "Mr. Burger, everyone in that house is in danger!" he exclaimed.

"Especially you!" Hamilton burst out. "Sampson, something killed you!" At the moment he was too overwhelmed and baffled to really think about how bizarre that statement sounded.

Sampson shook his head vehemently. "I wasn't dead," he said. "Whatever attacked me just kept me looking dead as long as I was in that house."

"Sampson, that's nonsense," Hamilton objected. "Nothing could do that!"

"Something _did!_" Sampson insisted. "I'm not making it up, Mr. Burger. And to prove it, I can tell you and everyone else everything that happened from the time I collapsed up to this point. I didn't see it, but I heard it all." And he proceeded to expound on the past hour, in spite of the paramedics' attempts to get him to the ambulance.

Disturbed, Della gripped Perry's arm as she listened. "Oh Perry," she gasped. "What do you think about _this?_"

"I think that this can't go on any longer," Perry said grimly. "I don't know whether Sampson was really dead or not, but he was definitely hurt. And something certainly appeared to be controlling Bonnie at the same time. If we don't solve this mystery right away, there could be a real death any time now."

In the doorway, Lieutenant Anderson gaped at the unfolding scene. "We came out here for a murder," he said to his mentor and friend. "And what have we ended up with instead?"

Tragg shook his head. "At this point, I don't know, Andy," he said, pushing back his hat. "I don't even know. But I think it's way, _way_ out of our jurisdiction."

Andy nodded, bowled over. "And how," he uttered.

xxxx

Even after the paramedics proclaimed in bewilderment that Sampson seemed to be fine, he refused to so much as approach the house again. He was thoroughly shaken, fearful that taking even one step towards it would cause either the unsettling pseudo death or a genuine death. He wanted to see everyone in the house come out of the house and stay out.

"It's just not safe," he insisted from where he was sitting in his car. "You could all go to a motel until the problem is solved."

But Mrs. Walker shook her head. "This is my home and I intend to stay here, Gregory," she told him. "Whatever's haunting the house hasn't done anything to us so far. Maybe it just doesn't like you in specific."

"Or maybe what it did to me was only a warning to all of you," Sampson frowned. "I don't want to see any of you get hurt."

Mrs. Walker patted his hand. "We'll be just fine. I'm sure Thomas and maybe even Kenneth will protect us. Maybe they protected you."

"Oh, maybe," Sampson conceded, "but Mrs. Walker . . ."

"Mrs. Germaine should be by soon, and then maybe we can get all of this cleared up once and for all," Mrs. Walker declared.

Sampson sighed, slumping back in the seat.

Hamilton sighed too, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Greg, you really should go to bed," he said. "I'd be happy to drive you home."

Sampson looked up at the man he worked for and idolized. "Thank you, Mr. Burger, but I feel I should stay here," he said. "I know there's really nothing I can do, but I can't stand to think of leaving them here with a treacherous problem like this."

Perry came over to the car and looked in. "How are you feeling, Mr. Sampson?" he greeted.

"I'm fine now, thank you," Sampson said with a tinge of impatience. "I'm only worried about the people who live here and insist on staying here, even with so much trouble befalling them and others."

Perry rested his arm on top of the car. "Well, personally I think that this attack on you is the key to the entire mystery," he declared. "It fully seemed to be malevolently directed at you and specifically you. I don't buy that Helen Garden would assault you, at least not for the reasons you cited."

"And what other reasons would she have?" Sampson grunted.

"That's what I want to find out," Perry said. "Were you involved in any way with her trial and conviction?"

"That was Mr. Burger's case," Sampson frowned. "Although . . ." He paused. "Mr. Burger ended up being unavailable on the day of sentencing. I went in his place."

Hamilton nodded. "That's right, I remember. But Perry, I conducted the trial against her. If you're trying to say her ghost tried to kill Sampson because of the sentencing . . ." He laughed under his breath in spite of himself. ". . . Then she should have gone after me, too. I was right in the house and nothing happened to me!"

"Yes, but that was after Bonnie collapsed," Perry mused. "Perhaps the malevolent ghost isn't there all the time, but only sometimes. When you arrived, Hamilton, it might have already left."

Hamilton shook his head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation," he declared. "Perry, you're supposed to be a logical, sensible lawyer. Of course, you bend the law to your own purposes whenever you feel like it, but aside from that . . ."

Perry just smiled. "Are ghosts really so illogical as all that? Actually, Hamilton, sometimes you and other skeptics are so intent on coming up with other explanations no matter what that your so-called 'logical' versions are more ridiculous than the thought of spirits."

"Well, I think everything that's happened here tonight has definitely disturbed Lieutenant Tragg's protégé Andy," Hamilton said. "He's wondering if he even still wants to be in such an area where people are supposedly dropping dead and everyone else believes the dead did it."

"That, unfortunately, can't be helped," Perry answered. "If Lieutenant Anderson wants to leave, he's welcome to do so."

"Mr. Burger, you don't mean he's thinking of asking for a transfer," Della piped up as she came over.

"Right now, I don't think he knows _what_ he wants to do," Hamilton answered. "Lieutenant Tragg's baffled too. Of course, this isn't even their jurisdiction. I just asked them to come when I thought . . ." He trailed off, glancing at Sampson.

"When you thought I was dead," Sampson mumbled, leaning back in the seat and holding a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Burger."

"It isn't your fault, Sampson," Hamilton returned. "You came here hoping to help."

"Yes, and look what I've caused now." Sampson took his hand away from his eyes. "Does anyone know if Bonnie is feeling any better?"

"Well, she's certainly overjoyed that you're not dead, Mr. Sampson," Della smiled kindly at him.

"But she's still distraught from thinking that something took over her body to get me into that state," Sampson concluded.

Della sighed. "I'm afraid so," she said.

Perry frowned. "I'd hate to put her through anything more at this point, but perhaps if she could go into a trance and perform automatic writing, at least one of the spirits would tell us something more about what's going on."

"She can't control when it happens, Perry," Della protested.

"I know she can't," Perry agreed. "But I'm wondering if it would be possible for her to learn."

Sampson frowned. "If you play around with things like that, eventually you're going to get burned. You don't know what kinds of spirits you'd be opening the door to."

"I know," Perry said. "That's what's always dangerous about matters of the occult. Even if you have a relatively harmless goal in mind, it would just take one malevolent spirit to turn it all upsidedown."

Hamilton stood by, looking more amused than anything else. "Perry, you've been watching too many late-night horror movies on television," he scolded lightly. "And you too, Greg. Honestly, I think I'd better drive you home now."

Sampson sighed. "Alright. I suppose I can't really do any good here tonight anyhow. I just wish they'd _leave!_"

"They won't," Perry said. "Mrs. Walker certainly won't, and Bonnie won't leave her."

"And Michael won't leave Bonnie," Della added.

"Yes, I know." Sampson pulled down the seatbelt and reached to close the door. "Please let me know how Mrs. Germaine's visit turns out."

Perry smiled. "We'll be sure to. You get a good night's rest."

"I'll see that he gets to bed," Hamilton promised. "But Greg, if I'm going to drive you, _I_ need to be in the driver's seat."

"Hmm? Oh, of course." Sampson sighed and undid the seatbelt, woozily climbing across the stick shift to sit in the passenger seat.

"You're sure you're alright," Della said in concern, leaning closer to the window to look in at him.

"Yes, thank you," Sampson said, again pulling down the seatbelt.

Hamilton got into the driver's seat and started to back out of the driveway. Perry and Della moved to give them room.

"Where is Bonnie, Della?" Perry queried.

Della looked back towards the house. "Dr. Younger was still trying to convince her to take the sedative," she said. "But she wants to stay awake for when Mrs. Germaine comes."

"Speaking of that, here she is." Perry watched as an old blue sedan came up the winding driveway to park with the other cars. Mignon alighted, taking in the scene with visible curiosity in her dark eyes.

"Mr. Mason," she greeted when she took note of him. "Miss Street." She walked over, concern on her features now. "Has something else happened?"

"Something has, I'm afraid," Perry said. "Something in that house attempted to murder one of Hamilton's deputies, Gregory Sampson."

"Oh no." Mignon gripped her purse. "Is he alright?"

"Relatively," Perry said. "He claims that he was never dead, as he indeed appeared to be, and that instead the spirit made him look dead for as long as he was in the house. He only revived the moment he left the bottom step."

"Do you know of anything that could cause such an awful thing, Mrs. Germaine?" Della asked in concern.

"The spirit would have to be malevolent, Miss Street," Mignon said. "A benign or benevolent spirit would never do such a thing unless they were protecting someone, and they would surely know that there would be nothing to fear from Mr. Sampson."

"Yes, surely they would," Perry nodded. They started to walk to the house. "What are your plans, Mrs. Germaine?"

"First I will see what I can sense of the spirits present in the house," Mignon said. "Then I will inquire as to what they want. We'll see whether or not they answer."

"They may answer through Bonnie Craig," Perry remarked as they reached the porch. Opening the front door, he let Mignon and Della enter before stepping inside himself and pulling the door shut.

Hearing the door, Mrs. Walker hurried over. "Mrs. Germaine?" she greeted hopefully.

"Yes." Mignon looked to the worried woman. "I just heard about what happened tonight. I am so sorry."

"Thank you," Mrs. Walker said with a weak smile, "but it could have been so much worse. I'm just thankful that Helen or whoever that was didn't kill poor Gregory."

Mignon nodded. "That is most certainly a blessing." She glanced around the spacious parlor. "This is a beautiful house. But I sense much sadness here."

"There has been, especially ever since these strange things started to happen," Mrs. Walker said. "Come, I'll take you through the house and explain in detail what's been going on."

"Thank you," Mignon said, "but I will need silence in order to sense the spirits. Perhaps they will tell me themselves what they have been up to."

She walked ahead, calm and composed as she sought the other occupants of the house. Mrs. Walker trailed behind her, with Perry and Della behind her.

When she entered the living room, Bonnie, Michael, Mrs. Paisley, and Dr. Younger all looked up. Mignon stopped, listening, contemplating what she felt.

"There is a presence here," she said at last. "It doesn't feel malevolent. It wants to communicate."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Is it Thomas?"

"I don't know," Mignon said. "Mrs. Craig, Mr. Mason tells me that you have a mild level of extra sensory perception and that spirits have used you to channel their writing."

"They have." Bonnie averted her gaze. "And I'm afraid one of them tried to use me to kill Greg tonight."

Mignon regarded her kindly. "If the spirit would agree to give us a message through you, it would be helpful. But I fully understand if you don't feel you can allow that."

"If the spirit wants to, I wouldn't have any choice," Bonnie said. "I just blank out whenever it happens."

Della happened to glance towards the window. "There's mist here because of the rain," she remarked. Stunned, she went on, "And it looks like something is using it to write."

Everyone hurried to the window, wanting to witness the sight for themselves. And indeed, as they observed, an unseen finger was writing in the mist.

_Philip._

"Phil?!" Mrs. Paisley cried in disbelief.

"You're Philip?" Mignon calmly queried, while Bonnie gasped. "Are you the one who attacked Mr. Sampson tonight?"

The answer came without hesitation.

_No!_

"It's possible the spirit was responding to your first question and not your second," Perry mused.

"Or both questions at once," Della suggested, "if the answer is No to both."

"If you know who attacked him, please tell us," Mignon requested.

_I don't know._

"Now, I find that hard to believe," Michael spoke up. "Aren't all the mysteries of life supposed to be unlocked once you're dead?"

"Not necessarily _all,_" Perry replied. "But we are faced with a conundrum. We don't know that we're actually speaking with Philip, nor do we know that whoever it is tells the truth about the assault."

"If you are Philip, why are you still in this house?" Mignon persisted. "Your murderer has been caught. You should have moved on."

_Can't._

"Why?" Bonnie exclaimed, finding her voice at last. "Why can't you move on, Philip? Haven't you done enough to this family?! Can't you leave us in peace now that you're dead?"

_How I wish I could._

Bonnie scowled. "It's Philip, alright," she declared.

Mrs. Paisley scowled too. "Well, I don't blame him for not wanting to be stuck here, of all places. Why would he?"

Bonnie looked to her. "You know, Elaine, you found out that Philip and I weren't having an affair. Doesn't that help your opinion of us any? We didn't like Philip, but he didn't give us much reason to. And we weren't hypocritically disliking him while we knew we were committing sins just as bad, as you thought we were."

Elaine crossed her arms and looked away, not wanting to concede to that truth.

_Ladies, please._

Mrs. Walker stepped forward. "Philip, have you been helping us around the house, opening doors and turning on lights and such?"

_Thomas._

"Well, of course that wouldn't be Philip," Bonnie sighed.

"Aside from yourself and Thomas, don't you know who else is in this house?" Mignon queried.

_Helen, sometimes._

Bonnie shivered.

"But you can't say that Helen is the person who assaulted Mr. Sampson?" Mignon persisted.

_I can't say._

"Does that mean you know that there is someone other than you three in this house?"

_Yes._

"You know that much, but you don't know who it is?" Bonnie retorted in disbelief. "Come, Philip. You've joined the beings in the beyond. Surely you know how many of them have taken up residence in our once-happy home!" Her voice caught on the last sentence and Michael drew an arm around her shoulders.

_We were never introduced._

"Can you describe them?" Mignon asked.

A sudden wave of frost swept over the room and all its occupants. When they dared look at the window again, all of the writing was gone.

In its place were five streaks down the glass, as though the fingers of a hand had clawed at it while the owner was slipping in pain to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Bonnie's hands shook as she took the mug of hot chocolate from Della. "Thank you," she whispered.

They were in the kitchen, at the island in the middle of the floor. Della sat next to her, crossing her arms on the counter. Bonnie was still much too pale and Della was concerned. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked, gently.

"Oh, I don't know." Bonnie sipped the hot beverage and then set the mug down. "It's been such a horrible night. First that scare with Greg and now this. . . ." She shook her head. "I could never bring myself to like Philip one bit, but knowing that he was apparently here, and quite possibly attacked by whatever got Greg. . . ." She sighed. "On the other hand, maybe this is some sickening, macabre joke of Philip's and he's just fine. Or as fine as an earthbound spirit can be, that is." She gave a dark smirk. "He'd play a trick like that, you know."

"I never met him," Della said.

"You can be glad of that," Bonnie said. "Oh, I know we're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but . . ." She took up the mug again. "He was such a case. He probably still is. That's probably why he can't move on."

"Mrs. Germaine has been trying to communicate with him or Thomas or any of the other spirits," Della said slowly.

"And she hasn't had any luck, has she?" Bonnie said as she looked up.

"I'm afraid she hasn't," Della admitted. "Everything's been quiet since the writing on the window disappeared."

"Not even any activity in the ghost room?" Bonnie said wryly. "That's what Mike calls it."

"I think Mrs. Germaine is up there right now," Della said.

"And has been for the past half-hour," Perry said as he wandered into the kitchen. "The spirits aren't lending themselves to cooperation tonight. I'm afraid we've probably seen the last paranormal activity for a while, anyway."

"Oh, Perry, maybe Greg is right," Bonnie moaned. "Maybe we _should_ get out of here. So far this spirit has harmed both another spirit and a living man. What's to keep it from murdering all of us in our sleep tonight?!"

"How does your mother feel about leaving?" Perry returned.

"She still doesn't want to go," Bonnie sighed. "Dr. Younger is trying to convince her that she should."

"Surely Dr. Younger hasn't come around to the idea that there are actually ghosts here," Della said in surprise.

Bonnie half-smirked. "Not Dr. Younger. He's still trying to think some living person is managing to do all of this. But he's worried what they'll try next."

"And for good reason," Perry said. "It _is_ a worry."

Bonnie sighed. "And Elaine doesn't want to go now, of course. She's worried about Philip. Not that she can do anything for him."

The ring of Perry's cellphone abruptly interrupted the tense moment. Frowning, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "Yes, Paul?" he greeted, recognizing the detective's number.

"Hi, Perry," Paul answered. "I've been looking up that information you wanted. Turns out there was more than one criminal death in California the night Helen Garden was killed. And get this—Deputy D.A. Sampson prosecuted this other guy's trial."

"Excellent work, Paul," Perry praised. "You might not like the next task so well."

Paul sighed. "And what, might I ask, is that going to be?"

"Oh, finding out all you can about said man and any possible interactions he had with Mr. Sampson," Perry said.

"And of course, I can only find that out from Mr. Sampson," Paul deduced.

"And maybe Mr. Burger," Perry added.

Paul exhaled in exasperation. "Perry, they're probably both asleep. Like I should be right now!"

"You can go right after you try to question those two," Perry said. "There's a chance they might still be awake."

"Uh huh, a chance," Paul echoed. "And if they're not?"

"Then I suppose it will have to wait until morning," Perry said.

"At least _something_ will," Paul muttered. Louder he said, "Okay, Perry. I'll see what I can find out, if anything."

"Thanks, Paul," Perry smiled. "I'll be sure there's a bonus in this for you."

"There had better be," Paul quipped.

xxxx

The lights were still on when Paul drove up to Sampson's home and parked. He would be inclined to think that perhaps Sampson was simply too spooked to sleep with them off, considering he lived alone, but he supposed he was going to have to approach the abode and find out. Sighing, he got out of his car and headed for the porch.

Hamilton opened the door just as Paul reached it. "We heard your car pull up," he explained. "But Paul, what are you doing here?"

"I came because Perry wanted me to ask Mr. Sampson some questions," Paul said as he stepped into the entryway.

"About the attack?" Hamilton frowned. "Paul, Greg isn't feeling well after tonight. The last thing he needs is to be disturbed by . . ."

"I'm not going to ask about the attack," Paul interrupted. "Perry wants me to ask about some guy named Wilton Marius."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "That murderer? The case is over and done with. Marius committed suicide two weeks ago, after being sentenced to the death penalty."

Paul sighed. "Well, I don't really know what Perry's got on his mind, but he wanted me to find out how Marius felt about Mr. Sampson."

"Very hateful and bitter," came Sampson's voice as he limped out from what was probably a bedroom. He rested a hand on the doorframe. "He threatened me many times. When the guard found him dead in his cell, he also discovered that Marius had written on a paper in red ink that this wasn't over and I would never be safe from him."

Paul gave a low whistle. "So he expected to come after you from the grave?"

"That was certainly what he seemed to want to do," Sampson acknowledged.

Hamilton scoffed. "Oh, look, Paul. Maybe he _wanted_ to. That doesn't mean there was any way possible that he _could. _Are you trying to say that maybe _he_ attacked Greg tonight?"

"That might be what Perry's thinking," Paul said. "Like I said, I don't know. But he was found dead on the night Helen Garden was executed, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was," Hamilton said, folding his arms. "Although I don't know what that has to do with anything."

Paul sighed. "I don't either, unless Perry's trying to say that maybe the guy attached himself to Helen's spirit after her execution and they both went out to the Walker estate or something."

Hamilton looked like he was trying not to laugh. Sampson, meanwhile, looked disturbed.

"Wilton Marius was a madman," Sampson proclaimed. "He was given the death penalty because he committed two very brutal murders without a sliver of remorse. He was a man filled with hatred towards the entire world. If the spirit does continue after death, I can't imagine that his attitude would change any." He gripped the doorframe. "And if Mr. Mason honestly believes he's taken up residence at the Walker estate, it's a wonder every one of those people aren't dead by now!"

Hamilton sobered. "Paul, you're upsetting Greg," he said. "He's going to have a terrible time going to sleep now, and he badly needs rest."

"I'm sorry about that," Paul said. "I didn't really want to come here in the middle of the night. You know how Perry is."

"Yes, I know." Hamilton started to move towards the door. "And you can go back and tell him what we said and he'll probably have Mignon thinking it really is true, or at least that it _could_ be."

Paul nodded. "Thanks for your help, both of you," he said, walking to the door and opening it before Hamilton could do it. "Mr. Sampson, I hope you feel better."

"Thank you," Sampson acknowledged.

He stumbled into the living room once Paul had left. "Mr. Burger, I don't like what Mr. Drake is suggesting," he said, troubled. "Whatever came after me was definitely filled with hatred. If we acknowledge the existence of spirits, and assume that I was assaulted by one, it stands to reason that it had something specifically against me."

"Sampson, you're letting your imagination run wild," Hamilton objected.

"Well, they can't find any trace of poisons or other ill substances in my body," Sampson countered, "and wouldn't it be too much of a coincidence for something that made me appear _dead_ to wear off only when I departed the premises?"

"Sampson, you'd be amazed at what coincidences can cause," Hamilton said, shaking his head. "But come on, you need to get to bed if you want to have any hope of making it to court tomorrow." He frankly thought Sampson should stay home, but he knew Sampson was still hoping to get to work. They would see in the morning if he were well enough. That is, if he ever got to sleep so his body could mend from the shock.

Sampson sighed, but nodded and turned to limp away. "Alright, but I'm afraid I won't sleep until I know everyone there is safe."

_And who knows when that might be,_ Hamilton said to himself as he followed his trusted deputy.

xxxx

Sampson was not the only person involved in the case who could not seem to sleep. At an all-night café, Lieutenants Tragg and Anderson were sitting at a booth.

Lieutenant Anderson had his arms crossed on the table, a half-empty mug of hot chocolate in front of him. "Lieutenant, I just don't know what to make of any of this," he frowned. "In all of my years on the force, I've never encountered a situation like tonight's."

Lieutenant Tragg gave a wry smirk. "Who has? Although I must say it's nice to have a false alarm once in a while, when you work in the Homicide division."

"No arguments there." Andy took a sip from the mug. "That was the only thing that really went right—that the victim wasn't dead. But it doesn't explain what happened or how it happened or why. Since it was clearly an attempted homicide, we're still on the case. But _what_ case?! I don't like to say it, but it seems like it would be better suited to the Ghostbusters."

"Who ya gonna call?" Tragg quipped, still with the smirk. He sighed, sobering. "Unfortunately, that isn't an option."

"And I don't know what we're going to put on our report if it really _is_ supernatural," Andy frowned. "Lieutenant, how is it your luck to be mixed up with people who have such unheard-of adventures?"

"I ask myself that question every time I run into Mason," Tragg grunted.

"You seem to be on fairly friendly terms with him," Andy noted. "I have to admit, that's something I've been wondering about. We both know he bends the law to suit his own purposes. How can you, in good conscience, associate with him any more than you have to?"

"Well . . ." Tragg leaned back, pondering on the honest question. "You're still new around here, Andy. True, Mason bends the law, and neither Mr. Burger nor I am very happy about that fact. But we also possess a great deal of respect for him. Like it or not, he has some amazing deductive abilities." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Now if we could only get him to put them to use without all the law-bending as part of the package."

"But he probably won't," Andy frowned. "He seems to have his own ideas about justice and the end justifying the means." He sighed. "I'm afraid I just can't be comfortable socializing with him the way you and Mr. Burger do."

Tragg nodded. "And that's fine. You don't have to." He smiled, crookedly. "But you're still always welcome to join us when we all have lunch or dinner."

Andy took up the mug, toasting him with it. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Maybe I'll take you up on that sometime."

"I wish you would," Tragg said, returning the toast with a mug of his own. "Actually, sharing a meal with Mason is usually quite enjoyable. We tend to leave law and police work out of it, unless it's an angle we can agree on."

The bell over the door jangled as a new customer entered. Both policemen looked up, curious and confused over who would be coming in at such a witching hour. Both were surprised to see a very worried David Gideon, who hastened directly to their table.

"Excuse me, Lieutenants," David greeted, "but do you know what's happening at the Walker estate? Gertie told me something terrible had happened, but when I tried to call Mr. Mason, I couldn't reach him!"

"What?" Tragg stared at the boy with a frown. "When did you try?"

"I've tried several times," David answered. "I've tried both his phone and the Walker phone. I keep getting a message that they're out of service!"

Tragg immediately got to his feet. "Well, that's certainly not supposed to happen," he said. "The storm is picking up again, but not to the point that the phones should all be dead."

Andy nodded. "We were up at the estate not more than a couple of hours ago," he said. "Everything seemed to be working then."

"Then something new has happened!" David moaned. "I have to get up there." He turned, hurrying outside into the rain.

"We'd better get up there too," Tragg said to Andy. "Ghost or not, maybe whatever's causing so much trouble is making its next move."

Andy was in definite agreement. Leaving a tip for the waitress on the table, he rushed outside with Tragg.

David was already taking off in his car, heading for the road leading up the hill to the estate. His car's lights soon vanished in the heavy rain and fog.

Tragg climbed into the police car and pulled down the seatbelt all in seemingly one motion. Andy dove into the driver's seat next to him, turning the engine over. In a moment, they too were disappearing into the wild night.

xxxx

Perry wasn't sure what was happening at the house. But when the lights began to flicker on and off very rhythmically and definitely not because of the storm, he knew enough to say that another communication was taking place.

Della hurried over to him. "Perry, why is there so much activity tonight?" she wondered in concern. "Malevolent things have been happening for the past two weeks, but not so much all in one night."

Perry frowned, deeply. "As cliché as it seems, I have to wonder if the day has anything to do with it," he said. "We're past midnight on the 30th of October. As in, now it's the 31st."

Della's stomach turned. "Halloween," she whispered.

Perry nodded. "Like it or not, the ghosts really do seem to pick up in their activities during the days that comprise Halloween and the subsequent Mexican celebrations All Saints Day and All Souls Day. Or at least, the accounts of such activities are more plentiful during these days."

Della shook her head. "I thought and hoped a lot of that was people's overactive imaginations."

"A lot of it probably is," Perry said. "But unfortunately, the antics in this home seem to be genuine."

Della shivered. The chill was becoming more prominent again. "Do you honestly believe the spirit of that suicidal man followed Helen out here?" she wondered.

"I don't know." Perry drew a protective arm around Della's back. "I was considering it as a possibility, but something still doesn't seem right." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm missing something, and I still don't know what it is!"

At that moment there was a cry from the study and Mrs. Walker hurried into the living room. "Philip's writing on the window again," she proclaimed. "He says he's alright." Without waiting for Perry and Della to answer, she dove back into the room.

Perry and Della immediately opted to follow. "Do you think it really is Philip?" Della wondered.

"Bonnie seems sure," Perry mused, "but any spirit could mimic Philip's comments, if it wanted. There really isn't any way to be sure who's talking to us."

Della gripped her purse. "That's terribly frightening, when you think about it," she said.

"I know." As they came to the doorway, Perry paused, watching the scene and wondering if he dare lead Della in. But, he mused, it probably wasn't any less safe in that room than in any of the other rooms of the house. The ghosts seemed to be equally everywhere. He guided Della in with him.

"Philip, what happened to you?" Mrs. Walker was demanding, while Mrs. Paisley stood by and tensely watched. "You weren't playing a cruel prank, were you?"

As before, the letters slowly appeared in the window's frost, just as though an unseen person was writing them right then.

_Attacked._

"By whom, Philip?" Bonnie frowned. "Helen? Or this mysterious fourth party you mentioned?"

_Helen. She's lost her mind._

Perry frowned. "Then is Helen the one who attacked Mr. Sampson after all?"

_Ask her, not me._

"He certainly isn't very cooperative on the subject," Perry mused.

"Oh, when was Philip ever really cooperative?" Bonnie sighed.

Perry shook his head. "He might not be trying to be disagreeable this time. He could be genuinely frightened."

"Of Helen?" Bonnie frowned.

"Well," Perry said, "let's not forget that Helen was a murderess in her right mind. If, after death, she's even worse than that, I think that's something for anyone to fear."

Mignon nodded, looking deep in contemplation. "The spirit is generally the same as in life," she said. "However, there are circumstances that could change one's personality." She looked back to Perry. "Did you say someone else died in the prison the night of the execution?"

"That's right," Perry said. "But he committed suicide."

Della stepped forward. "Perry had thought maybe that spirit had somehow followed Helen out here," she said.

"That's possible," Mignon agreed. "Or, alternately, perhaps the dark energy from that troubled soul mingled and fused with Helen's."

Perry frowned. "How do you mean, Mrs. Germaine?"

"Simply that, because of the nature and states of mind of both people when they died, there may have been an overabundance of dark energy on the spirit plane in the area where they died," Mignon explained. "Helen may have become infused with the hatred and motivations already prevalent in this other man."

"So she would attack Mr. Sampson because that man wanted to harm him," Della deduced.

"Yes. And if she had any feelings of hate on her own, the other person's feelings would increase and expand on them."

Perry could imagine how Hamilton would scoff at all of this. But right now he was too concerned that it could somehow be true to spend time doubting. "Suppose this is the case," he said instead. "How would we solve it?"

"The spirit would have to either be cast out of the house or else calmed into abandoning the hate," Mignon said. "I could try to handle the former, but I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to achieve the latter."

"Maybe if she would just listen to someone," Mrs. Walker said. "Helen was my secretary companion for over twenty years. If I could get through to her, I might be able to stop her reign of terror."

Mignon was about to answer, but Bonnie interrupted her. "Don't bother."

Everyone started and turned. "Bonnie, what are you talking about?" Mrs. Walker exclaimed. "You know we have to . . ." But then she trailed off. From Bonnie's dark expression and flashing eyes, Mrs. Walker realized that her daughter was not in control of what her body had just said. "Oh no," she whispered.

"_Yes,_ Sylvia, I'm Helen," Bonnie proclaimed with a smirk. "And your new friend is very astute about what happened to me. I did encounter a cloud of darkness and hate upon my death. Perhaps at first I was frightened, but then I welcomed it in. Now I'm more powerful than you could ever believe."

She began to advance on Mrs. Walker while everyone gaped in shock. Michael and Dr. Younger hurried forward, trying to stop her, but she turned, flinging out a hand. Both men fell back, as though blasted by an invisible force.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Walker cried, her voice strangled in horror. "Michael!" She rushed over to the dazed men, her emotions and heart reeling.

Perry stood his ground. "Della, get back," he ordered.

But Della shook her head. "There's no way I'm leaving you here to deal with this," she declared.

"Foolish," Helen sneered through Bonnie. "Haven't you and all of these other people realized yet that love as you think of it doesn't exist? Love is selfish; it's only about satisfying our own needs and wants."

"That, Miss Garden, isn't true love." Perry took a step forward. "For you, perhaps, love doesn't exist. You twisted it and used it to your own goals, as did Thomas, and when he betrayed you, you turned against him. The both of you did an excellent job of misusing love again and again. But you don't have to continue the cycle. Your mortal life is over. You can choose to leave these people alone. They didn't have anything to do with what happened to you. Why do you want to hurt them?"

"They testified against me," Helen replied, stepping forward to meet Perry. "That woman spawned the man who betrayed me. And the other man is related to them. Why shouldn't I want to hurt them? They should all suffer now, as I suffered for years!"

"You brought most of that suffering on yourself," Perry countered. "You could have ended the cycle after Thomas betrayed you. Even if you had gone to prison for your part in the crimes you both committed, you would have gotten out in a few years and could have started your life over. You didn't have to kill Thomas. And you didn't have to kill Philip. Those murders were most certainly your undoing."

"_No!"_ Helen's eyes burned with fire and rage. "Shut up! You can't blame everything on me. I won't have it! I _won't!_"

A visible ring of dark energy flew out from Bonnie's body, knocking over everything and everyone in its path. Thrown off their feet, Perry, Della, and Mignon crashed into the wall.

Della looked up in horror. "Bonnie!" she cried. "We know you're still in there. You can't let this happen. You can't let Helen control you like this!"

For a moment Bonnie wavered, her eyes flickering, desperate, panicked. But then the look was gone, replaced by Helen's madness.

"Mrs. Germaine." Perry looked to Mignon. "You said you might be able to cast Helen out. Well, if you can manage it, now would be the time to try."

"I don't have the items I need," Mignon replied. "They were over there, on the desk." And now, with the room in such disarray, she wasn't sure where they had ended up.

Mrs. Walker looked up. "Mrs. Germaine, if you try to get rid of Helen, will it . . ." She swallowed hard. "Could it end up harming Bonnie?"

"It shouldn't," Mignon tried to assure her.

Mrs. Walker bit her lip. "I wish there was a way to save Helen instead of just casting her away," she said quietly.

Dr. Younger stared at her. "Sylvia, after everything she's done?" he exclaimed. "She killed your son!"

"I know." Mrs. Walker clenched a fist. "But for a time, a long time, I believe she was truly my friend. She became twisted and corrupted through the years, as did Thomas. I don't want to return hate for hate. Look at what hatred has done to her now!"

"To cast her away wouldn't be hate if done only in the spirit of saving everyone she's trying to harm," Dr. Younger said.

"That's right," Perry nodded. "It will be painful, Mrs. Walker, but I'm afraid it's the only way. Perhaps sometime, later, she can find her way again, but right now she is too overcome by darkness and madness to listen. We can't allow her to add one more name to the list of her victims."

Mrs. Walker bowed her head. "You're right, of course, Mr. Mason."

"It doesn't matter what you think or who's right," Helen countered. "You won't be able to do anything to me. I will see all of you dead before you can so much as try."

But her face wavered and crumpled in agony. "No!" Bonnie cried, struggling to break through the possession. "No, I won't let you hurt them!"

Michael leaped up, in spite of the dizziness from being blasted. "Bonnie," he said in anguish, "fight her. You can fight her! Use these crazy powers of yours for good!"

Bonnie's visage twisted as Helen took control. "She'll be the first to go," she promised. "I can't have her ruining my plans."

"Helen," Perry began in a commanding tone.

He got no further. "I said _shut up!_" Another burst of dark energy, more powerful than the first, burst forth from Bonnie's form. Everyone in the room collapsed.

xxxx

As the lightning flashed outside, four cars drove up single-file to the estate and parked. David leaped out first, followed by Paul, who had decided to go back after failing to reach Perry on the phone to give his report.

Tragg and Andy alighted as well, grim and concerned as they stared at the flickering lights of the house. "What in the name of Heaven is going on in there?" Tragg frowned.

"I'm almost afraid to find out," Andy moaned.

They hastened after the others, but another voice called to them out of the wind and stopped them in their tracks. "Tragg! Andy!"

Spinning around, they stared at Hamilton as he emerged from Sampson's car along with Sampson. "I thought you were taking him home," Tragg frowned.

"I couldn't keep him from wanting to come back," Hamilton sighed. "He's worried about the family and everyone else in there."

"As are we all," Tragg said. "But Mr. Sampson, how do you think you can do any good after what happened to you earlier tonight?! You might . . . well, drop dead upon entering the house!"

"I don't think so," Sampson replied. "I know I was worried about that, but judging from all the commotion in there, I think that demon is paying too much attention to everyone already in the house to stop and notice me. And even if it does turn its rage on me, perhaps that would be enough of a distraction for everyone else to stop it from harming anyone else."

Tragg's expression darkened. "Why, that could be suicide!"

"I know," Sampson admitted. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "But I'm willing to sacrifice myself, if the need arises."

"Hopefully it won't," Paul interrupted as they reached the porch. He pounded on the doors. "But we might not even be able to get in!" Both doors seemed to be firmly sealed shut.

"We won't give up this easily," Hamilton declared. "Let's see what happens if we all go at them."

Everyone slammed on the doors with all their might. At first there was no reaction, but they persisted. They had to get inside!

"I think they're weakening!" David announced after several tries.

At last they succeeded and the heavy barricade gave way, sending a frightening chill at the group that was icier than anything the storm could conceive. For a moment they stood there, stunned.

"Alright," Paul said in relief, shivering from the frosty greeting. "Let's get in there and see what's going on!" He tried to ignore the feeling of dread. The chill continued inside the house. Something was very wrong.

David ran past him, hurrying to the study. "The door's jammed here, too!" he exclaimed, rattling the knob.

"Great," Paul muttered. "Well, let's go at it too."

"Wait a minute," Hamilton interjected. "There's a shadow under the door. I think someone might be on the floor against it."

"Uhoh." Paul looked, seeing that Hamilton was right. "Hey!" he called, knocking on the door. "What's going on in there? Is everyone alright?"

To his surprise and relief, the shadow moved and the doorknob turned. "Come in, Paul," a slightly dazed Perry said. "Everyone."

"Mr. Mason, what's happening?!" David exclaimed. "No one has been able to reach you by phone and . . ." He trailed off, gaping at the scene inside the room.

Three translucent figures were holding onto Bonnie—or rather, they seemed to be holding onto something inside Bonnie's body. And as long as they were holding fast, Bonnie seemed to be immobile. No matter how she screamed in rage, she could not move.

Mrs. Walker was just sitting and staring. "Kenneth!" she cried. "Thomas!"

"And Philip," Michael added, stunned.

Mrs. Paisley moved forward, slowly, overcome. "Phil?" she ventured. "It's really you?"

"_Of course," _Philip said. _"You don't think anyone would actually pretend to be me, do you?"_

Mrs. Paisley managed a weak smirk. "Hardly. But . . . are you really alright?"

"_As alright as a dead man can be, I suppose," _Philip said.

"Kenneth?" Mrs. Walker was still in shock. "You were the fourth spirit?"

Michael looked to Philip in exasperation. "You could have told us, you know."

"_I wasn't lying; we hadn't been introduced,"_ Philip defended. _"Anyway, he said he wanted to tell you himself. But then Helen caused some more trouble and there wasn't any chance."_

"You couldn't even give us a straight answer about Helen, Philip," Mrs. Walker said. "If you had admitted it was her . . ."

"_I wasn't sure when she attacked the deputy D.A.,"_ Philip said. _"She was so filled with hate that she didn't even look like herself. And when I realized it was somehow her after all, well, I didn't know what to make of it! Especially considering what she'd done to me by that point."_

"Ah yes, it always comes back to you," Michael said.

"_I'm helping now, dear cousin-in-law,"_ Philip replied.

Kenneth decided he had better avert a possible argument. _"Don't worry about Bonnie," _he said to his wife and Michael. _"Or Helen. We'll take Helen with us and everything will be alright."_

"You can do that?" Michael said in amazement.

"_We can," _Thomas said grandly, _"but we have to all be cooperating for it to work."_

"Let me guess," Michael sighed. "Philip wasn't cooperating."

Philip shrugged. _"Oh, I suppose one good deed won't hurt. And at least I won't have to listen to Helen replaying my death like a broken record every night."_

The three of them backed up, at last managing to pull Helen's struggling spirit out of Bonnie's body. Released from the evil hold of the possession, Bonnie fell forward into Michael's arms.

Mrs. Walker hurried over as well. "Kenneth . . . Thomas . . ." She gazed at her husband, dead these many long years, and her son, dead for over a year. "Now that you have her, are you . . . all leaving now?"

"_I'm taking her to where she can hopefully begin to get straightened out," _Kenneth said. _"Then I . . . I'm going back."_ He looked lovingly at his wife. _"I moved on years ago. But Thomas and Philip, well . . . I don't think they're ready yet. Nor do I think you're ready to let Thomas go. You don't mind having two ghosts in the house for a while longer, do you, Sylvia?"_ His eyes twinkled.

Mrs. Walker smiled. "As long as they behave themselves, not at all."

"_Why, Mother."_ Thomas pretended to look affronted. _"Of course we'll behave."_

"_I suppose I can, when I'm around," _Philip said. _"I don't intend to stay often, if I'm now free to go where I please. I've been bound to this house since my death, and it's really quite a bore."_

Elaine smirked a bit, feeling the same way.

Bonnie stirred, certain that she could hear her father and brother's voices. As she focused, her eyes widened and she gasped.

Kenneth smiled at her. _"You've been very brave, Bonnie,"_ he said. _"You never stopped fighting against Helen's control."_

"_That helped us get her too," _Thomas added, even as Helen continued to curse and kick in their grasp. _"Even with all three of us, we couldn't have broke her hold without you, Sis."_

Bonnie continued to stare at them. "I'm not . . . dreaming, am I?" she whispered.

"_Not at all,"_ Kenneth said. He looked to Dr. Younger, who had been silent and was just staring, trying to comprehend this scene. _"Take good care of Sylvia, Doctor,"_ he said. _"I know you already know what a wonderful woman she is. I just want to let you both know that I approve."_

Mrs. Walker smiled a bittersweet smile. "Oh Ken . . ."

"_And we'd better go," _Thomas said apologetically. _"I don't think we can hold Helen much longer."_

"Of course," Mrs. Walker stammered.

Thomas looked over at Sampson. _"See you, Greg. Sorry about what Helen did."_

"Oh . . . that's . . . alright," Sampson said, overwhelmed by this scene.

The four spirits faded.

Mrs. Walker slumped back, happy and sad tears in her eyes. There were no words to be said. Dr. Younger came to her, drawing an arm around her shoulder.

Perry relaxed. "Well," he said, "the cold feeling is gone. I don't think there's any more to worry about. Do you, Mrs. Germaine?"

Mignon smiled. "I believe everything will be alright now."

"I certainly hope so," Della said. She gazed at the spot where the spectres had stood. "But what a cherished gift for Mrs. Walker and Bonnie and Elaine to receive, to see their departed loved ones again."

Hamilton was silent, holding a finger to his face as he pondered in confusion. At last he stepped forward. "Perry . . ." He spoke low. "What just happened here?"

Perry looked to him in surprise. "Hamilton, didn't you see . . . ?" But he could tell from Hamilton's eyes that he had not.

"Did you hear?" Mignon queried.

"I saw and heard those people—and even Sampson—talking to thin air like they were having a conversation," Hamilton said.

"I did too," Paul frowned.

"I'm afraid I didn't see anything, either," Andy confessed.

"Hmm." Perry looked to Mignon. "How would you explain that, Mrs. Germaine?"

"They are either unprepared to see or they do not need to see," Mignon said. "Yet. However . . ." She smiled a bit. "Who knows what the future may bring."

"Yes," Perry smiled in agreement. "Who knows indeed."


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Trick-or-treat!"

Della opened her apartment door to the latest chorus of children's voices. "Oh my!" she exclaimed. "Look at so many scary monsters. And such a beautiful fairy in the midst of them." She smiled at a little girl in blue, who grinned a big toothless grin in reply. "Here's some candy for all of you." She held out a large red bowl. "Just one candy bar each," she added.

The kids dug in, taking their prizes into their treat bags. "What do we say?" Della prompted when they each had something.

Again the kids chorused. "Thank you!"

Della straightened, smiling as she watched them move on to the next apartment.

"Having fun?" Perry asked from behind her.

Della nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "This is Halloween the way it should be," she said, "where the only scary ghosts and goblins are children in costumes."

Perry smiled, coming up next to her. "I agree."

The ringing of his phone interrupted the moment. He took it out, looking at the name and number in surprise. "It's from the Walker home," he announced. "Hello?"

Della perked up and turned, curious.

"Hello, Mr. Mason! Happy Halloween."

"Oh, Bonnie," Perry greeted. "How are things tonight?"

"They're going well, Mr. Mason," Bonnie smiled. On her end of the conversation, she was standing by and watching as Mrs. Walker doled out candy to the trick-or-treaters. "Very well. Mother has rallied, that awful cold sensation is gone, and Dr. Younger has proposed!"

Hearing Bonnie's words, Della smiled.

"Wonderful," Perry said sincerely. "Give them our congratulations."

"Coming through!" Michael called, approaching the door into the living room with two more bags of candy. "Could someone get the door?"

Bonnie moved to open it for him. But before she could excuse herself from the phone, the door swung open by itself. Michael stepped through, eyeing it, a bit taken aback. But then he shrugged and smiled. "Thanks, Tom."

"_It doesn't always have to be Thomas,"_ a disembodied voice replied.

Bonnie jumped a mile. Then, shaking her head, she turned back to the phone with a smile. "It looks like Dad was right about Thomas and Philip staying here for a while, too," she said. "But I don't think we're going to mind."

"Good," Perry smiled. "Very good."

In the apartment, Della came to attention as another group of children approached the door. As Perry stepped back inside to finish the conversation, a chorus of "Trick-or-treat!" went through the phone.

Bonnie chuckled. "Well, I'd better let you see to your trick-or-treaters, Mr. Mason," she said. "Thank you again for your concern and help."

"You're welcome," Perry said, "but I think most of the credit goes to the dearly departed. And to you as well, judging from what your father and brother said."

Bonnie considered that. "Yes," she mused, "I suppose you're right. But thank you anyway, Mr. Mason—you and Miss Street and all of your friends. You were all worried about us and tried to help us and it means a great deal."

Perry smiled. "I'm glad everything turned out as well as it did."

They said their goodbyes and Perry hung up, watching as Della passed out candy to the latest batch of costumed kids. They proclaimed their thanks in return.

Yes, everything had turned out well indeed.


End file.
